


Beyond the Brambles

by velvetcadence



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Kissing, M/M, Only a tongue in the butt breaks the spell, Porn With Plot, Riding, Rimming, Schmoop, Sleeping Beauty - Freeform, Somnophilia, True Love's Kiss, dubcon, really - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-04
Updated: 2013-04-04
Packaged: 2017-12-07 10:55:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/747717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velvetcadence/pseuds/velvetcadence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik won't wake up unless Charles kisses him <i>down there.</i> A Sleeping Beauty AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beyond the Brambles

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt [here.](http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/8700.html?thread=20930812#t20930812) Thank you very much to OP!

His name was Charles.

He was the prince of a small castle due west, and it was not the legends that brought him here, but the fevered dreams. Night after night the past three days had left him wrung out and exhausted, visions of fighting through tangled brambles and going up flights of stairs tiring him as if he'd physically done it. Someone was calling for him, not in name but in the purest of languages: the voice of a heart seeking another.

It was madness, the way he hurried from home towards some far-off village he'd never seen. The townspeople were kind to him, barely batting an eyelash at eccentric gentry visiting. They were sadly accustomed to visitors entering the thicket at the edge of town and never making it back.

He felt their pity like a dense cloud over his head. And perhaps he merited it. He was shaking with restless energy, and the brambles called to him to enter them. Perhaps he would be the first to return. Perhaps not. Either way, he could not take his horse and would have to foot his way through the thorns.

 

It was not as difficult as he'd imagined. The scratches he received were shallow, and more from his clumsy fumbling rather than the maliciousness of the overgrown things. He followed where his feet led him, ducking through low branches and hopping over roots, stopping only once to rest his tired feet before continuing again. Charles reached a stream which replenished him, and if it smelled of magic, it was the good kind. The very air was tinged with an old, ancient spell. He dabbed at his wounds, conscious of the sun dipping low in the sky, and then set off once again.

At last he reached the end of the thicket, and the beginning of a large claw. He lifted his head and trailed his eyes up towards the length of the great limb and into the yellow eyes of a beast of a dragon. It growled low, the ground trembling. The air shimmered with heat.

Overwhelmed, Charles thrust his sword into the ground and kneeled, feeling his weariness like a tremor through limbs. "O great dragon," he said, "I have come not to slay you but to find the one who calls me. My intentions are honorable, for I have dreamed the past few nights of him and know his loneliness well. If I should lie, kill me on this spot. If I should not, let me pass and end the curse."

From the dragon's nostrils, smoke arose, but it did nothing more than lift its tail and let him pass. He bowed low and thanked the beast, sheathing his sword and making his way into the ruins of a once-magnificent castle.

This was not a castle, Charles thought, but a mausoleum of a time decades long gone. Perhaps even centuries. Curiously, the flag stones were clean of grime, though the rooms were devoid of any warmth.

He could feel the lingering phantom of his dreams guiding him through the maze of ruins. Once again, he let his feet lead him until he came upon a tower and a very familiar flight of stairs. 

Up he climbed, feeling dizzy not with the exertion but with anticipation and the headiness of the magic permeating the air. At last the final step was reached, and there lay like perfection the slumbering king of legend.

Charles was aware of the fact that every step towards the sleeping man echoed on the stone, and yet the king did not wake. He looked peaceful, flat on his front, his hand curled by his face like it was cupping the light from the windows. His blanket looked like it had been kicked off in deference to the heat of the afternoon. What stole Charles' breath was that he was as naked as the day he was born.

Charles could not help his eyes from roving over the fine form, taking in the broad shoulders, the length of his spine, and the trim waist. He reached out to touch a tousled lock of ginger from the king's brow. The man was younger than Charles had expected, but perhaps he was simply softer in sleep. He must have been an imposing presence, with the strong jaw and the proud tilt of his nose. 

The king stirred not, though Charles somehow knew that the king was aware of his presence. The king had his own kind of magic, something brilliant and rare that kept him alive all these years and even strong enough to reach out to Charles.

Tenderly, Charles cupped the king's cheek and bestowed a kiss to his temple, on the apple of his cheek, and then on his lips. He drew back and waited for a breathless moment.

Nothing happened. The thrum of magic remained as it was.

His kissed him again and again, starting with gentle pecks that grew deeper and pressed longer. The king kept still. Frustrated, Charles turned him onto his back and held the his face in both hands, letting his tongue explore the cavern of his mouth, urging the body beneath his to respond. His ministrations had no effect, save for a sudden hitch of breath. The king stayed lax and sleeping.

"Why?" Charles whispered against his lips. "A prince's kiss breaks the spell. As with the frog, the beast and the sleeping death. Why not this? Oh my love, what black witch has done this to you?"

He ached from the journey and from disappointment. The daylight dimmed from the windows, and the air grew cooler as evening approached. Charles shed his clothes and slowly slipped into the bed beside the king, putting his head on the pillow near him.

"I'm so sorry," he said, his eyelids drooping. "I'll do what I can. I won't leave, not until I free you from this curse. I've done it, see. I've found you. I've found you." Charles fell asleep with his palm resting on the king's chest, right above his heart.

 

Charles often had vivid dreams as a child. They went like this:

They were dipping their toes in the water when the other boy asked, "What is the one magic that triumphs all?"

"I know this riddle." He said, kicking the surface of the water. "It's love, isn't it?

"My Mama says so." The other boy agreed. "Do you love me?"

"Of course. There's no one for me like you."

"Good. Come find me when you're strong enough." 

"I'm not strong now?"

"No. Not yet. Remember: through the roses and past Raven, then up the stairs. I'll be there."

"That looks like an awful lot of stairs." He said, looking up. "And there aren't any roses here."

"Of course there are," The other boy said impatiently. "They just haven't bloomed in a long time. But a rose bush is still a rose bush even without the roses."

"I suppose that makes sense."

"Remember the way," The other boy scowled. "You keep forgetting."

"I'll remember! I promise." He took the other boy's hand in his and said, "I'll find you. Wherever you are."

The other boy was quiet for a long time. "All right. I believe you."

 

Charles awoke with a firm warmth at his back. The king was draped along the length of him, his strong arm pressing Charles against him so that they fit together like two spoons. Charles could feel the hardness of him against his thigh, and the pressure of the king's hand spread upon his belly made pleasure flutter within him. He craned his neck to see the king still asleep, but fitfully so. It was the most active Charles had seen him, and he found the scowl on the king's face so familiar and dear he almost wept.

He kissed him then, coaxed the king's mouth open for something sweet and drawn out. Charles turned within the circle of arms and slipped his leg in between the king's, gently rutting against him. He put his hand between them and gripped them together, pressing his forehead against the king's throat to watch them harden within his hand. Perhaps it was the magic that was making him feel drugged and wanton, but Charles was half-sure that it was only the king himself that made his body react this way. He swiped his thumb across the wet slits of their flesh, muffling his groan into the hollow between the king's clavicles.

He could bear it no longer. Charles detached himself with a whine, rummaging through his pouch on the floor for the little vial of oil he kept for cleaning his sword. He turned the king once more on his back, noting the flush high on his regal cheekbones and the fluttering of his eyes beneath his eyelids. The prince knelt and bussed a kiss against the head of that magnificent cock, trailing a long kiss down the vein at its underside. Charles licked at the heavy balls, taking them in his mouth for the pleasure of the texture, slipping an oiled finger into himself at the same time.

He timed his licks on the king's cock with the thrusting of his fingers, moaning at the stretch of both his mouth and his arse when he crooked three digits in, just barely scraping against the spot that sent sparks up his spine. The king jerked at the vibration, and Charles, elated, straddled his thighs and poised himself at the tip for a long moment before sliding down onto the length of him.

"Oh…" He breathed, feeling the stretch and the pleasure of having the king fill him. He rocked his hips, pinched his nipples and bit his lip, wondering if this would be enough to wake the king. Once he was fully seated, Charles bent down so he could kiss the king, or more accurately lick his neck, and perhaps scrape his fingernails down that perfect chest. His thighs burned with the strain, but it was a pain that mounted the pleasure.

He rocked against the king until he found the spot within him that sent sparks up his spine. Afterwards, he could only slump forward, breathing hard. The king's pulse was fast where Charles pressed his lips to his throat, and faintly he could feel the grip of the king's hands on his hips. He was waking. 

Charles let the king slip out once his own breathing evened a little more, the other's cock still hard and curving deliciously towards his navel. The magic was so heady and thick he could scarcely breathe, but this felt right. It felt like he was meant to do this, whatever he was doing.

He looked down upon the king and could not stop himself from kissing every inch of him—the pebbled nipples, down his sternum, sliding his come-slippery fingers down the thatch of hair leading to the king's groin. Charles nibbled at a hipbone and nudged the tip of his nose against the crease of the king's thigh and hip, and with steadier hands gripped the backs of the king's knees and pushed them up so that every inch of him was exposed. 

A steady wave of arousal washed over him. He laved again at the balls, the sensitive skin behind them, patting the flat of his tongue again and again to the crinkled skin of the king's arse. He was like a demon possessed as he kissed him deeply there, his lips and his tongue making love to the man's most vulnerable part. And when he plunged his tongue in, the king groaned, opened his eyes and grabbed at Charles' hair.

Charles could scarcely express his happiness when the king flipped them over and crushed their chests together, his joyous shout aborted into a fierce kiss. The king swallowed every cry and whimper, even as their tears mingled.

"I waited for so long." The king whispered roughly. His voice caught in his throat; from grief or solace, it was hard to tell.

"I'm here." Charles whispered, "I promised I'd find you."

They kissed again and breathed together when the king entered him, the both of them entranced as the king breached him slowly and Charles arched into the feeling. With the king braced over him, Charles could do nothing more than reach down and cup his firm backside in his hands, feeling every sinuous flex and rut. He was fully erect again but nowhere near close. The king reached his pleasure first, shoving into him helplessly, wild and uncontrolled with the last strains of magic threading the air. 

Charles soothed him with kisses, and afterwards they brought him to pleasure in their entwined hands, the king especially fascinated when Charles bit his lip and whimpered.

They lay side by side in the sweetness of afterglow, tracing each other's faces as dawn lightened the room. "My king. My one and only love." Charles professed.

"Call me by name, prince of my heart."

Charles laughed, because he'd been having dreams of this man since he was a boy and it was only now that he was learning his name. The laughter turned to tears, and Erik held him close as they both trembled.

 

"I told you there were roses," Erik said.

The thicket that surrounded the castle was blooming. Erik carefully plucked a rose and brushed its petals against Charles' lips. Something poetic crossed his mind, how the rose dulled in comparison to the prince's mouth, but Charles stopped all thought when he smiled softly and kissed its petals. "I believed you."


End file.
